


Enemies to Lovers: Express Edition

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: Jokes We Took Just Far Enough [4]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, enemies to lovers express edition, tactical dick sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: For WeCouldPretend. This is entirely your fault.This is exactly what it says on the tin.
Relationships: Galehaut/Lancelot du Lac
Series: Jokes We Took Just Far Enough [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967320
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Enemies to Lovers: Express Edition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeCouldPretend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldPretend/gifts).



From leaving home to arriving at Camelot to arriving at the personal point of calling Camelot _home_ , there had been precious few things Lancelot could count on in this world, and few of them brought any joy.

The sun would always rise too early. The food would always cool too quickly. There would always be those who were smarter, faster, just plain _better._

Except on the battlefield.

There was something about the sound of metal clashing against metal or leather or bone, the smell of all the things war brought when war's principles were being enacted between soldiers who knew only that in order to live, others had to die, the way the fear turned to _rush_ that brought something close enough to joy he dared not look much further.

And so, when his King called the soldiers of Camelot to arms, he would find himself no other place than the front lines, sword ready and soul _hungry_.

There were more days of war than not in his King's reign, but few of those days of war involved battle. War was, Lancelot knew, more about negotiation and intimidation and using others' fear as a weapon than it was about slaughter, but when it _was_ about slaughter?

Lancelot was at his best.

There was an art to the kill on the field. You had to be aware of what was going on at all times, needed to know where your opponents' weak points were, needed to know who was just outside your field of vision – or worse, behind you – if you wanted to see the other side of the slaughter alive.

Arthur was lucky, Lancelot had heard other Knights mention when they thought he could not hear, that Lancelot was as powerful and terrifying as he was. Lancelot knew it was not luck – luck would not dare try to find favor in someone as cursed as he – but he did not bother correcting them. After all, Arthur was the type of man fortune not only favored but chased after.

And whatever worries and threats fortune did not take care of for Arthur, Lancelot _did._

And so, when he found himself in the heat of battle, ground slick with the blood of the fallen and blood ringing in his ears so loudly he could not hear the sounds of battle, he knew he was where he needed to be.

He was locked in combat with what was – as far as he could cast memory back in a moment like this – the largest man he had ever seen.

Thus far, this stranger had managed to match Lancelot blow for blow. Where Lancelot would normally be able to duck inside someone's guard, this stranger had kept Lancelot at bay.

Lancelot was flagging, the hours holding the line beginning to creep into his awareness. There was not much more he could do to hold this giant of a man at bay and he had lost track of where his fellow Knights were.

At some point, Lancelot's mail had been snagged – on a blade or arrow or the strength of a dying man clinging to the armor as if it would give him his life back he did not know – and he was favoring his exposed side, the fear of getting a second blow to the same spot too great to push aside in favor of focusing on the fight at hand.

This enemy – and he'd truly lasted long enough to be called an enemy rather than an opponent – was going to be the death of him if he couldn't figure out how to get inside his guard. 

At what point did survival outweigh honor?

 _Not this one,_ he decided as he ripped his helmet off to better take in his surroundings.

His sword seemed near half as wide as Lancelot, which might explain why Lancelot had not been able to break his guard. He carried his weight on his heels, which meant Lancelot would need to his _below_ this man's center of gravity to knock him off-balance. He was wearing cloth armor, not mail or even rawhide. Whether this was hubris or resource constraints did not matter – Lancelot had a small advantage there, just enough of a protective edge that he may be able to...to do something.

There were no men standing behind this enemy, none left to fight far enough away that they could hear a rallying call for help should one be shouted. Whoever lived was doing so on his own.

Whoever this was, whoever was the first in history to have lasted this long against Lancelot, had taken a heavy beating before they'd been locked in combat. His armor had tears in it, fabric rent by sword and mace and had been left so exposed that it was clear to Lancelot why this enemy had been so determined to keep Lancelot at bay. 

He'd never _seen_ armor rent apart like that, at least not on someone who'd survived the blow. The padding did its job – there was very little blood Lancelot could make out, but there was still the very real risk of being flayed alive by someone who came in too close.

Where were the worst of the rents? Lancelot took some of his focus off the blows he was landing to take a closer look. Face was mostly unharmed, eyes were wild with fury, chest was still covered, arms were mostly exposed, legs were somewhat exposed, legs were somewhat exposed, _legs were..._

_...legs were..._

_Gods and King forgive me,_ Lancelot's brain had locked in on what was, as far as he was capable of thought, the only way he was getting out alive without retreating.

In a move that would later be called a number of things ranging from _tactical dick sucking_ to _unlike anything I had ever seen_ to _Lancelot what the fuck were you thinking you have a warhorn to call for backup if you needed dick that badly you could have just asked,_ Lancelot did the least likely thing he would have suggested to someone else who wanted to live while still retaining their honor.

It was a quick movement, one in which Lancelot threw his sword down and slid past this – well, he supposed he couldn't call him an _enemy_ anymore with what he was about to do – man's guard, slid on his knees and _hoped_ he could make contact with the other man's cock before the well.

There were weeks of too many jokes about the move not being how one used his enemy's own sword to your advantage, but he supposed that was exactly what he had hoped would happen.

There was a blur that was a mix of battle fury and fear and _living despite the odds_ that followed and Lancelot couldn't remember most of it and did not want to get the details from the others.

He only hoped that when historians looked back on how King Arthur secured the allegiance of King Galehaut, enough liberties had been taken with the turn of events that he was not remembered as _Tactical Dick Sucking Champion to the Once and Future King._


End file.
